


aftermath

by cptsuke



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 09:58:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8323552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsuke/pseuds/cptsuke
Summary: Last anyone had heard Barton's team had gone dark the moment SHIELD had fallen to Hydra and all that remained were dead.Natasha tries not to worry.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this almost immediately after WinterSoldier came out and then forgot about it. Basically I just wanted an explanation for the missing Hawkeye. One that I could accept.  
> and widow hawkeye broship is always good.  
> set sometime after winter soldier.

There's the sound of good-natured laughter coming from Sam's kitchen when Natasha arrives.

It can't be Steve; he's already gone ahead to Belarus, giving Sam some time to settle up and shut down his life here before following. And while Natasha doesn't know Sam well enough to think _trust_ , she does trust him to not be stupid enough to have friends over while she was dropping by.

 

The laughter doesn't sound forced; half of it is definitely Sam, but the other half? The other half she can't really hear properly over Sam's deeper tone, but it doesn't set off any alarm bells in her head – which in itself sets off alarms. So she comes around the corner wary but not visibly packing - a disarming tactic she's often found more effective than pointing a loaded weapon in someone's face – and she hears the second voice ask a question of Sam in a wry joking _familiar_ voice.

“ _So_ I hear you're going to challenge Coulson to a duel for the fair Captain America's hand.”

_Oh._

Sam laughs but Natasha doesn't register it, everything non-essential filters out until her focus is completely and keenly on the man sitting at Sam's table.

 

The last definitive intel she'd been able to get of him was touchdown in Afghanistan; Fury - before leaving – had told her as much, told her that Barton had been tasked with mole hunting in Shield's middle eastern interests and that he'd been radio silent since the moment Steve's Kill or Capture order had been sent out. That Barton's entire team had gone dark; and the place he'd sent them was full of reports of a smoking crater with evidence of an excessive amount of gunfire and unidentified bodies all over the place.

(Fury had also said, in a voice quiet, angry and regretful, that the Hydra contingent had taken the order to take down Captain America as a takeover mission; known SHIELD through-and-through agents all over the world were killed before they had a chance to question their team mates.

“For what it's worth,” Fury had said. “Agent Barton was – _is_ – surprising asshole, if anyone can make it out of this clusterfuck, it's Barton.”

Natasha had nodded, accepting the compliment even if it maybe meant nothing. )

Natasha hadn't believed him dead - because to do so would be a betrayal of not just their friendship, but also Barton's uncanny ability to survive anything the world threw at him – but the continued radio silence had given her more than a moment of concern.

 

Yet here he sat, alive and smirking. Freshly showered from the spikes in his hair and she's willing to bet in clothes too neutral in color to be his own.

“Clint.”

He smiles at the sound of his name, exhaustion and what was very likely pain bleeding away to relief, like he hadn't believe she was okay until that very moment. Then his smile changes to a smirk – his defense against emotions – and he says,

“I though we'd agreed you'd give me some warning before you made me unemployed.”

“I never agreed to that.” She replies just as glibly.

 

Later he'll tell her about being up in the highest building, taking potshots at _SHIELD_ agents; because that was what he'd thought they were. About having Bobbi's forehead in his crosshairs and hesitating, even though he was pretty sure he could trust her – _he didn't trust her –_ couldn't, wouldn't trust her. Holed up in the building across the way, shooting anyone who tried to come in.

Later he'll tell her about the quicksilver, yet seemingly endless moment that Cap's Kill or Capture order came through, how Bobbi had been the only one other than him that had looked shocked.

He'd tell Tasha about that moment breaking, McIntyre pulling his weapon, firing – Clint's got a deep furrow gouging the outside of his thigh because McIntyre's draw was always fast but his nerves made him over eager and honestly Clint's surprised the guy had never shot his own feet off.

“I made a friend.” He'll say, proudly, as if days of Bobbi and him trying to convince each other and themselves that they definitely didn't want to kill the other; starving, dehydrated, bleeding and utterly at a fucking loss as to what the hell was going on, as if those days had been a good thing.

(and later - much much later – curling in on himself – small and sorry – he'll apologize; _sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry._ A thousand times because he knows her and knows her genuine desire to not be the bad guy and SHIELD is where he put her, where she trusted him to go.

And she will curl up with him.

And she will call him an idiot, and her grip will leave deep blue fingerprints on his skin and she won't say this isn't your fault, but she won't say it is either, because they're in the same boat. Cast adrift and unmade but they at least had each other to keep themselves afloat.)

 

Sam laughs, leaning towards Clint, with the sort of shit eating grin on his face that speaks of suddenly finding a kindred smart ass to become bros with. She looks at Clint, he's holding himself a little stiff – but it's more from the hurt he's hiding beneath Sam's bulky hoody – but he's smiling back at Sam, and not just because he's finally laid eyes on Natasha, his body language is free and easy. He _likes_ Sam.

Natasha is never going to forgive Steve for letting this happen

“No.” She says, eyes narrowing as she looks between the two. They turn their grinning, too many teeth showing faces towards her and she knows it's already too late.

They're _friends._

 


End file.
